The Pale Garden

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2026-08-18 17:24:03 -

The Pale Garden

"Stop it." The word hangs in the air. Thick. Wet. You pull your hand back. The blood is red. It is warm. It is yours. The iron gate groans. It is not a sound of metal. It is a sound of teeth. You look at the wall. The stone is pale. It is like bone. It is like the face of your father when he was sleeping. When he was dying. You are in the courtyard. The air smells of rust. It smells of old...

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